Naming Ceremony Has Player Pointing Fingers

by Lobelia Hardbottle, MESN

MORIA - It is a bright, clear day on the patio of Evenstarbucks where I've met Francisco Xiques for a cup of joe. Squinting in the sunlight is the self-proclaimed up-and-coming star of Moria's pitching lineup; with his ball cap turned backwards, one can see his rugged, youthful human looks. "I bet you're wondering why I asked you here, Lobelia," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "I asked you to meet me because I gotta lot to say--about Moria, about racism, and especially about Brandelion."

He has a dangerous glint in his eye as he says this. I am intrigued. For months now, I have been chasing the real story behind the madness in Moria, and only managed to meet with dead ends. As for Brandelion, I have been on her trail for months, searching for answers to her never-ending string of seemingly half-baked judgements, not least of which was hiring the now-dead tyrant, BranMorda. Yet, she has managed to elude me. Would the real story finally be told? I push aside my double latte mochachino and begin recording Xiques's story.

"It all started with the Naming Ceremony," Xiques says, referring to the recent ceremony held in Moria in which reclusive wizard Olorin the Wise gave new Middle Earth-based names to several players on the Miners roster. "These guys I looked up to in the bigs for hanging onto their names, their heritage, started signing up to have all of that taken away. I didn't get it; you know? So I started asking around. 'Hey, Don,' I says to Guglielmo. 'What's up with this?' And Don said, 'I gotta do what I gotta do.' That's all he said. And then I asked my old friend, Pablo, what's going on? He wouldn't give me an answer. I mean, me and Pablo were real tight, you know--we could tell each other anything. He was that kind of friend—or so I thought.

"Then, I find out Pablo's going to sign up for the Naming Ceremony. I says to him, I says, 'Pablo, you're going to give up your family name? What about your heritage? What about where you're from?' And he says, 'I just wanna do what's right for the team.' He was already playing for the bigs at that time, and I was still AAA. I didn't know what was really going on, until I got the chance to move up to the bigs. Then I knew--those guys didn't want to give up their names, their identities. The brass pressured them to."

Xiques pauses to spit angrily on the sidewalk. "The brass?" I ask, confused about this anachronistic reference. Xiques continues, nodding. "Yeah. The brass. The managers, and such. When I got promoted to the major leagues, they took me in a little room and closed the door behind us. I thought they were going to give me a talking to about what an honor it is to play for the Miners, and what to expect, but they didn't. Instead, they told me that changing my name and race to some 'Tolkien' thing would be 'the best thing for the team.' They said if I didn't, I might be responsible for our luck turning sour. I thought, 'What the [expletive]!' Who are they to tell me who to be? Like, my family name, my heritage, it ain't good enough to play on this ball team. That's racism. I decided to make a complaint, and wrote a letter to the owner about it. A reply came back right away. I was excited; I thought I was really going to make a difference.

"And then I met with her,” Xiques pauses to let this sink in. “Brandelion of Lethargy. Now there’s a ball o’ wax. First of all, we couldn’t meet like normal people at a normal time, or anything. It had to be in Balin’s tomb at midnight—if you ever been in Balin’s tomb at midnight, you’ll know; it’s real creepy. I was herded in by a bunch of 'security' guys in long, hooded black capes. They didn't talk or anything, just sorta...screeched. Made my blood run cold. The way they handled me, it made me feel like a, uh, a criminal, or…dinner. No respect, you know? It was the weirdest situation I’d ever been in.

“Then I saw her: tall, blonde, beautiful, in this long, shiny dress thing, but, like my mother always says, you can't trust the packaging. She asked me to sit down, so I did. She smiled and made nice about things. Something about her set me on edge, though. Finally, I says 'Look, let's just get to the point, alright?' She didn't like that too much. She stopped smiling. I mean, that smile just dropped off her face and hit the ground. She said, 'You're new here, Francisco, so I'll allow you the momentary slip. In the future, you would be wise to keep your attitude in check for the duration of your career at Moria.' That’s when I lost my cool. I started in about what racist bigots they all are, and before long, I was pinned to my chair; paralyzed. Trapped, you know? And then she had her way with me."

"She had her way with you?" I say, a bit louder than necessary. Xiques's face colors three shades of red. "No, not like that. I don't mean that. I mean, she started using her mind powers or something on me. She kept talking, and talking, and the more she talked, the more she made sense. Suddenly, I was thinking I wanted to change my name and race. It began to seem like a good idea."

Xiques grows pensive at this point. He plays with the mysterious paper band around his sterofoam coffee cup. Why is that paper band there? To what purpose? My mind wanders to the eternal coffee-cup question, getting lost in the labyrinthine twists and turns of reason and madness…it’s a piece of paper! Paper! Why? Xiques gently taps my arm. “Yo, earth to Lobelia?” he says. I feel embarrassed by my moment of inattention, but Xiques seems amused. “I know how it is,” he says with a grin. “I don’t understand that little band of paper, neither. Why the [expletive] is it there?” We share a hearty laugh, the kind that turns heads in a small but crowded coffeehouse. With all of Evenstarbucks staring at us, now, I turn our talk back to the interview.

Xiques has no trouble picking up where he left off. "They let me go, after that. I went back to my room to think. I mean, I knew at the heart of me that what they'd told me wasn't right, but I had all these conflicting messages in my head. I felt drained. But after a while, I got it together," Xiques sits bolt upright in his chair, slamming his fist on the table. "I decided right then and there I was going to take this to the Commissioner, to the public, to everyone--Moria is full of bigots, and their team owner is a mind-melding, manipulative vixen. I lost all respect for her from that day forward. And, I tell you what," says Xiques, speaking in hushed, dangerous tones. "It's not just the team management. Since I've come to Middle Earth, I've been treated like a second-class citizen. Not just because I'm a human from another dimension--if you're not a Dwarf in Moria, you're nothing."

My head reeling from these stunning accusations, I press Xiques to explain his position further. "I see it all the time," he says, waving his hands wildly. "Elves, Hobbits, the races of men--they're passed up for promotions, overlooked, forgotten. Why do you think I was in the minor leagues so long? I got more talent than anyone in this league, but I wasn't called up because of my name. Not until this 'Naming Ceremony' came along, when they thought they could change me into what they wanted.

“Look at the roster,” he continues. “Out of 25 players, 9 are dwarves. And 9 more are thinking about becoming dwarves. There’s no way you could tell me that ain’t racism; if I agreed to go through the Naming Ceremony, I’d probably become a dwarf, too. Now that’s something to think about.”

Xiques sits back in his chair. He wears a tortured expression. Could there really be racism in Moria? And, what would the Commissioner have to say about all this? I quickly wrap things up with Xiques and make for the offices of Commissioner Rasreth.

It isn’t easy getting in to see the Commissioner. His office is swarming with a mob of angry players waiting to file complaints about a certain pet dragon running loose in the Grey Havens. I can see it will be no easy task gaining an audience with the big guy. As instructed by a bored receptionist, I take a number and wait.

Hours tick by. I have now missed supper, and it looks like I’ll miss second supper, too, when my number is finally called. The door to Solonor Rasreth’s office swings open with trepidation, as if even a door could be reluctant to answer Xiques’s allegations. But inside, Commissioner Rasreth is all smiles.

“It is a pleasure to meet with you again, Lobelia,” says the jolly half-elf. I get down to business right away, filling him in on Xiques’s position. The Commissioner frowns momentarily. “As we have always said, managing a league that is filled with members of various ethnic groups is a challenge. As long as there are elves and orcs, goblins and dwarves, there will be those who manage to upset the applecart.” The Commissioner breaks into a warming smile, and pushes a pamphlet across his desk. “The League continues to promote racial harmony through its educational efforts, especially the ‘Really Big Brothers and Sisters’ program." The pamphlet shows two grinning Uruk-hai holding frightened Hobbits high above their heads.

Not at all thwarted by the pamphlet, I cut right to the chase. “Is Brandelion of Lethargy a mind-melding, manipulative vixen?”

“No comment,” Rasreth says firmly. Frustrated by his lack of response, I ask, “As her twin, can you tell us about her character?” The half-elf chuckles to himself, saying, “Yes, she certainly is one.” He is obviously pleased with his little joke, and continues to chuckle for some time until he halts suddenly and continues with stone-dead determination. “Seriously, the family has been concerned for quite some time that the stress of running a major league team so soon after returning from her harrowing escape might be too much. It's bad enough that she got mixed up with BranMorda, but now she's taken to secluding herself in the depths of Moria for long stretches of time. Her mental state is a private matter for the family, and we will handle it,” says Rasreth, speaking as her concerned twin. “However, if her erratic behavior starts to negatively impact the league, I won't hesitate to step in and deal with it; Commissioner-to-Owner, not brother-to-sister. Nepotism has no place in this league.” By the gleam of unwavering conviction in his eye, I know he is serious.

I ask, “Do you approve of the Naming Ceremony in Moria that started all this discontent?” Rasreth shook his head. “It is a common initiation ritual for players on any team to take on a
'game’ name, shedding whatever strange moniker they started with in life. I see nothing wrong with it. Some teams carry it a bit far, adding unnecessary hoopla to the whole thing,” said Rasreth. “But the League has no interest in the social affairs of a team.”

The Commissioner informs me that Naming Ceremonies are common practice for teams within the SGCBL; almost every team has done it. But have there been other players who took offense to the ritual? “Not that I know of,” says Rasreth. Could it be that Xiques stands alone?

“Well, Commissioner,” I say, keenly aware of the rumbling of my supper-missing tummy, and his answer-missing responses. “What does the league plan to do about the allegations of racism in Moria?”

“I believe I’ve already answered that,” he says. “No you didn’t,” I point out. “Yes, I did,” he says, again pushing the Really Big Brothers and Sisters pamphlet toward me. “A pamphlet? Are you going to give Xiques a pamphlet?”

Commissioner Rasreth seems to consider for a moment, before simply saying, “Mugwump.” I can see the interview is over; just like his evil twin, the Commissioner has managed to skirt the issue at hand and has left Xiques to deal with racism on his own.

Though I knew my efforts would be in vain, I contacted the Miners organization for official comment. Just as I expected, Brandelion refused all comment. In a last-ditch attempt, I contacted several players on the Miners roster for anyone willing to collaborate Xiques’s story; sadly, none answered.

It appears Xiques does, indeed, stand alone.

Posted at October 29, 2004 07:00 PM | more from Moria